


Shelter

by videogamelover99



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2d tries his best, Child Soldiers, Coming of Age, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Phase 2, Siblings, noodle isn't okay, the band as a family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-06 08:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/videogamelover99/pseuds/videogamelover99
Summary: The Gorillaz are back, this time with their teenage guitarist at the helm. As they get ready to release the new album, Noodle wrestles with her past, tries to look forward to the future, and to figure out what exactly this band means to her.





	1. Chapter 1

She’d gotten up at about 3 AM to get a drink of water, and accidentally walked onto 2D disassembling the microwave.

The singer hunched over the table, squinting at the mess of electrical wiring and gadgetry that lay uncovered, the metal casing that used to be there laying haphazardly on its side next to the appliance. As Noodle watched from the open doorway, 2D carefully removed what looked like a miniature doorbell, setting it next to him before diving in again, screwdriver in hand. He didn’t seem to notice the young guitarist quietly watching.

The girl quietly padded over to the electric kettle, switching it on before leaning against the counter, mug expectantly waiting in her hands. “What are you doing?”

The singer jumped in surprise, screwdriver falling out of his hand. “Noods, ya scared me!” He looked back at the mess on the table, as if just noticing it was there. “I’m, uh…fixing the microwave.”

“…At three AM.”

“I guess?”

“Why are you fixing the microwave at three AM?”

2D lowered his screwdriver again, finally meeting her gaze. “Cause it wasn’t working.”

Noodle glared at him, something the singer seemed blissfully unaware of.

The kettle whistled, and she quickly took it off the platform, pouring herself the tea, keeping her hands steady as she did. “Yes. I am aware. What I am asking is why are you doing this in the middle of the night, when everybody else is asleep.”

“It can’t really be everybody if you’re not, can it?” he shot back, and Noodle figured that she wasn’t the only one sleep-deprived.

“No. I suppose not.” She left it at that.

It looked like 2D had finally picked up on something, because he grew more chatty, slowly gutting the microwave in front of him. “Well, I was gonna get myself some of the takeout from yesterday, see? Only this bloody thing started smoking outta nowhere, so I had to pull it out. Thought it was a fuse or something, but…the whole thing’s…kinda a mess.” He gestured at the bell he’d pulled out earlier, probably from the timer, and Noodle moved closer to pick it up. The whole thing was covered in gunk and debris, the holes dripping with what looked like ectoplasm

“Maybe it is haunted.” She remarked, and honestly, that wouldn’t have been that absurd. Just two weeks ago they’d had to drive away a ghost that was hiding in their laundry machine. It took convincing Murdoc to use his oh-so-precious spellbook he’d gotten at a pawn shop in Manchester before they’d finally driven the lost spirit out, an old man that was desperately looking for his lost sock, one of his ghostly feet still bare. 2D offered his own pair before they’d finally convinced the ghost to leave.

2D chewed on his lip, seeming to be processing the new theory, before shaking his head. “Wouldn’t have been mad at me for taking it apart though?” Good point.

The guitarist left him to tinker, grabbing another mug from the cupboard and pouring a second tea before setting it next to him, far away enough for it to not be a hazard. “Do you want some?”

2D smiled at her, looking genuinely grateful. “Thanks!”

The teen fiddled with her own mug a little, watching the liquid cool slowly. “It was not a nightmare this time.” She began awkwardly. Stu wasn’t wasn’t looking at her, his limited focus trained on his task, but Noodle knew he was listening. Just like she knew he wanted her to tell him, but was unwilling to pry. “They have stopped, at least I think they have.”

He hummed, waiting for her to continue. She cleared her throat awkwardly, feeling uncharacteristically unsure of herself. “I have started remembering more. It was hard to stop thinking about it.” Grey walls with a chemical scent, children, like her, arranged in neat rows. People twice as tall looking at them, observing them, talking to each other in hushed but assertive tones. Sensei’s hand on her shoulder, urging her to calm down, to not let herself feel the panic. To panic meant that she had too wild emotions, meaning there was no control. The people in uniform would not like that.

A sharp scrape of metal, and Noodle was back, clinging a bit too tightly to the now cool mug. She watched 2D fiddle with the coil circuit he’d taken out, running his fingers over the shiny metal. Fidgety. “Do,” he hesitated, looking for the right words, “do they scare you?”

“No.” Yes. “Not anymore. That was a long time ago, anyway.” It was no more than seven years ago, and her “long ago” probably wasn’t the same as 2D’s. Still, she felt the need to lie. Just like she felt the need to smile and chatter when anyone else was involved, to look excited over the new album she’d written, to look young and inspired and passionate. Not like she was going to burst at any second from the tension in her gut.

She didn’t know if 2D had noticed the difference. He must have, he wasn’t that clueless, because the way she’d acted around the others was completely different from the way she’d acted around him. Russel was still distraught over losing his soulmate, they all new that, and Murdoc spent his free time drinking and fucking around, more so than before, if that was even possible.

She’d wanted to tell Russel, bad. Maybe not about the training, or the experiments, but just how she felt, how empty the rest of the world seemed. How empty she seemed, at times. But she couldn’t. Russel did not need her problems along with his heartbreak. She and 2D had an argument about it. How she was pushing them away. He understood that, but could not understand why she would want to be alone. Russel would. Having 2D there was a comfort as much as it was frustrating.

2D wretched the fan out of the rest of the machinery, wincing as he saw the state it was in. Noodle stared at it for a moment, at the clogged debris that had most likely caused everything to overheat. “Is that a-”

Stu yelped, tossing the fan onto the table (bad idea) and making retching sounds at the condom stuck in between the blades. Noodle couldn’t help it, she laughed as 2D gagged and wrung his hands. “Why…” His head fell onto the table.

“Murdoc.” Was all Noodle felt needed to be said. Some things were really better left unanswered.

…

They were in 2D’s room, the singer playing some obscure movie track on his melodica while Noodle rifled through the mp3 files on his desktop, most of it synth music he’d been willing to share with her. Lazy afternoons like these were something of a rarity, what with how frantic their recording sessions had gotten. Noodle wanted certain things to be like she had planned them. Murdoc objected, and anything even remotely productive would end in a shouting match that only ended when the girl stalked out of the recording studio, unnecessarily slamming the door behind her. Maybe she was a bit possessive, but she wasn’t sorry for that. Russel was unusually silent the whole time, and whatever effort Stuart gave to try to resolve the conflict (which wasn’t much) was met with a glare and a drunken insult. This was one of the days that went by relatively conflict-free, giving the band a much-needed break.

The guitarist closed the file of what sounded like overlayed train noises and opened up one creatively titled needagun.mp3. Maybe it was about Murdoc. The zombies wrecked less havoc than Murdoc.

The track opened up with something that Noodle couldn’t find a better way to describe other than “bloopy noises”. The girl suppressed a fond smile, glancing back at the singer draped over his bed, looking more vacant than usual.

Then the vocals came in, and Noodle held her breath.

_“I need a gun_

_To keep myself among,_

_The poor people_

_Are burning in the sun.”_

Something clicked, like a puzzle piece fitting in just the right place.

_“They don’t stand a chance,_

_They ain’t go a chance,_

_It’s a bobby gun_

_And all we do is dance.”_

Noodle grabbed their singer by the ankle, dragging him down on the floor next to her. Stu squaked, melodica falling out of his hands, and gave her an offended look. “Noods, why-”

She shoved the headphones into his hands, turning up the volume so they could both hear the track without having to put them on. “We’re using this.”

2D started back at her. “We are?”

…

It took a lot of tries, effort, and general sanity in order to get Russel to finally go out with them. The loss of Del was something the band had been aware of for a long time now, ever since Murdoc cast an off-hand remark of the deceased rapper performing in one of the tracks. Noodle had been hoping for that to be a possibility. But Russel had not reacted well. He didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day, and the next.

When he finally did appear, and their initial panic over him disappeared, Russel told them. About Ike Turner, and the Grimm Reaper, and Del. And Noodle was embarrassed that her first reaction was an urge to leave. Walking away would do nothing, and would definitely not help her loss-stricken friend. But she felt that if she didn’t run out of that door right now she might do something even more embarrassing, like burst into tears. Del was never an “official” part of Gorillaz, but he was an essential part. His rap brought a gravity to any of their tracks, not to mention it was damn good to listen to. Though she hadn’t understood most of the words he was saying, Noodle could feel every emotion behind them, to the point where language wasn’t really needed. She had looked forward to listening to him again and actually understanding. And now she never would.

It was funny though. Noodle understood him perfectly when he talked in English. The ghost understood her Japanese, and she, in turn, knew everything he said, despite not having a grasp on each of the individual words.

Whenever she tried to ask him about it, Del would respond with having studied Japanese in high school. That did not, however, explain how she could understand what came out of his own mouth, something that was clearly not Japanese. Later, when the guitarist got all her memories back, she’d wondered if the ghost had somehow reached them, uncovered them despite the mental lock that was placed. Many things about his and Russel’s abilities were left unexplored.

Rap though. Rap was different. The fast-set rhythms could not be separated from their language. At least, that is why she thought she couldn’t understand at the time. And that was fine. She’d never hear him ‘live’ again, but she could still listen to their recordings. It was fine. She’d never again have him make her a midnight snack when she couldn’t sleep, and proudly call it a 'ghost sandwich’. She’d never ever again make stupid bets on who’d win the next video game tournament (she would). She’d never hear him mutter ridiculous commentary during their horror movie marathons when Russel would fall asleep halfway through. And that was fine. (It wasn’t though. It wasn’t, why was she saying it was? _What was wrong with her?_ )

He was the one that taught her, really. The rap she’d wrote was meant for him, a sort of epiphany to everything she’d learned. And now Del would never see it, would never get to perform with them again. So who would?

She needed to find a rapper, but the thought of replacing Del made her too sick to bother with that at the moment.

…

When the coffee machine broke down, it left a large stain on the coffee table, an obscene amount of smoke and four caffeine addicts behind. Murdoc, the only one who witnessed its untimely demise angrily threw it at the wall, coffee cup and all.

“Why?” Russel asked, staring at the mess. “Why would you _do_ that?”

Murdoc sniffed, looking embarrassed, but trying to hide it. “Won’t bloody mess with Murdoc Niccals ever again.”

2D stifled a laugh with his hand, and Noodle swallowed down another spoonful of cereal, trying not to choke on her giggles. Sometimes, Murdoc was okay.  

The drummer watched as the bassist stalked off somewhere, probably to get holed up in his vinniebago, and turned his slightly stunned gaze back to the wreck on the floor. “Hey, ‘D? You can still fix it, right?”

“Suhr!” the singer swallowed his mouthful before repeating himself. “Sure.” Noodle didn’t know when Russel had started trusting him with this stuff, but the microwave worked now, so there was that.

But 2D was not able to finish on the coffee machine before everything else started breaking down as well. Over the course of just a few days the heating had gone, followed by the TV (much to Noodle’s irritation), the stereo, the refrigerator, and, finally, the lighting. Russel tried to call their energy provider before the phone line went dead, too, cutting him off halfway on his rant. Only half of the recording studio still worked, the amps giving an intorrelable crackle every time something was plugged in.

The band would’ve thought it was weird if they hadn’t realized that they lived, you know, in a _haunted mansion_. It was fine until they’d been cut off halfway through recording, erasing all their progress on “O Green World” and leaving Noodle a fuse bomb about to go off. The three men stayed a safe distance away, letting her cool down for the rest of the day.

That was a week before 2D’s Casio CTK went up in smoke. The keyboard just burst into flames halfway through their zen jam session, the heartbroken singer watching in shock as the plastic slowly melted into itself. Noodle had the bright response of throwing a blanket over it, preventing the fire from burning down the rest of Kong. The the two watched the smoldering mess in dead silence, broken only but a sad crack as the plastic and wiring overheated and burst.

Finally Stuart got to his feet. He slowly unplugged the keyboard, letting the cord fall on top of the blanket, before striding out of the studio, his face completely blank. His hands shook as they struggled to open the door, which only made the guitarist worry. She didn’t think she’d ever seen 2D so livid before.

Noodle followed the singer all the way down to the garage park, where she cautiously watched as he wretched open the door to Murdoc’s winnebago, ignoring the angry, and frankly surprised squak from the half-drunk bassist, and stated unceremoniously rifling through his things. Noodle had to physically restrain Murdoc from hurling his boot at him.

“Dents? What the fuck are ya doing?”

“Sod off.” Came the biting reply, leaving Murdoc gaping like a fish for a few seconds.

With a triumphant hum, the singer pulled out a heavy, ancient looking tone, demonic-looking pictures drawn on the cover. It was Murdoc’s spellbook, a cursed collection of hexes and satanic rituals that he’d used to summon all those demons back on their first tour. Noodle was surprised Murdoc still had it. And that 2D knew where it was.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing with that?”

The singer looked back at him, the long, blank stare meeting the bassist’s angry, but confused eyes. “There’s a ghost killing all of our stuff.”

“So- so what, yer gonna exorcise it or something? Since when did you know how to do that?”

“Er-” 2D suddenly looked a lot less angry, and a lot more unsure. Noodle watched her band members, feeling like she was missing some crucial information that only the two of them knew. Like why was Murdoc acting so civil? And why was 2D so calm? They were allowed to keep secrets. She of all people knew that. So why did she feel so irritated?

Then, just as suddenly as it disappeared, 2D’s confidence came back, the singer grabbing the heavy looking tome and striding out of the vinnie. Noodle watched him go, silent but uncomfortable. Murdoc looked uncharacteristically nervous. “What, did he somehow lose all sense of self-preservation or something?”

Noodle tapped her index fingers together. “The spirit, ah, the one that Russel thought messed with all the power? It, ah. It fried his keyboard.”

Murdoc scowled at her. “Wadaya mean ‘fried’?”

“Poof.” The girl mimed an explosion with her hands. “Fried.”

Murdoc looked back at the keyboardist, who was already at the elevator doors. “Well shit.”

The two hurried after their him.

…

“Yeah, like, that- NO! You gotta make it straight, dammit. Who taught you how to write?”

“You did.” Noodle muttered under her breath, hands stark-white with chalk. The line was completely straight, practically perfect. She tried not to throw the piece of chalk in Murdoc’s smug face.

2D came stumbling back, various kitchen items staked in his arms. “Are you sure we need all of this? Like the crisps? Are you going to lure the ghost in with them or somethin’?”

“Hey, which one of us here summoned a demon before? Let the expert work over here.” The bassist grabbed the bag of crisps, digging into it and showing a few in his mouth. He shrugged at the singer’s glare. “Hey! That was just to make sure I was…bound to this plane, you know? Don’t want the ghost to drag me off to the next plane, yeah?” That made absolutely no sense.

“Oh.” The singer frowned. “Then shouldn’t Noodle and I-”

“-Satan, I’m gonna need a beer for this shit-”

“Okay!” Noddle cut them both off, tossing the chalk back in the box. “We did what you asked. Now get rid of it.”

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on.” The bassist snatched a few more items from 2D’s hands, almost dropping the rest. He spread the salt on the floor around the pentagram Noodle had drawn, muttering something that the guitarist was 100% sure was for show.

She grinned anyway. “Are we going to see the ghost?”

“All in due time, love.” Murdoc was practically glowing from all the attention, the unholy stink of alcohol he naturally exhumed did not ruin Noodle’s excitement. She felt slightly bad at not mentioning their little exorcism to Russel, but none of them knew what he would’ve thought about their little plan. And she couldn’t blame him. Aside from Del, none of their numerous experiences with the supernatural were pleasant. Murdoc was destructive without the curses and hexes and demons he seemed to not help but dabble in. Was this really a good idea, now that she thought about it?

The candles around the drawing flickered, and the room around them grew cold. Noodle felt shivers down her arms, and rubbed them. Her breath escaped in misty puffs, which she watched disappear with a detached fasination. A wind picked up, ruffling her hair, and 2D slowly backed away from where Murdoc was standing.

It wasn’t the first time that Noodle had been part of a summoning. Having Murdoc as your bassist meant waking up with a demon coming in to use your toilet. It was the first time, however, that Murdoc had let her touch anything. Noodle didn’t know how she should feel about that.

With a rush of wind the candles went out. 2D yelped somewhere in the dark. Noodle reached her vicinity for anything she could use to defend them with. Just in case the ghost turns out to be more corporeal than it should. Suddenly the room was alight again, an electric, blue glow coming from about the pentagram.

It looked like a cluster of lightning bolts about the size of a tennis ball. It floated above Murdoc’s carefully constructed ritual circle, crackling with energy.

Noodle knew what it was. She remembered it from years ago, an encyclopedia entry 2D had read to her when she had a fever and the only thing she could do was lay in bed and drink lemon tea. 2D seemed excited to share it with her. Noodle, who only started to barely get the hang of English, was nowhere near as enthusiastic. Still, she remembered the pictures. “It’s-”

“Ball Lightning.” 2D finished, in awe.

“You’re ball lightning.” Said the sphere.

Oh.

“What the everloving hell kinda ghost is that?” Murdoc snarled, clearly not as excited about this thing. “What, are ‘dead people’ not good enough for you? You havta go and do this whole sci-fi nonsense?”

Whatever she was expecting, Noodle decided that it certainly wasn’t this. The orb, which looked a lot like a rare weather phenomenon, shot out a couple of sparks, one landing on Murdoc’s sleeve. The bassist quickly wiped it away, but the sphere looked even more angry. It flew around the perimeter of the salt circle, finally realizing that escaping from it was impossible, before settling in an angry hiss in the middle of it. “Fucking finally.” It spoke up, an echoey quality to its voice, which Noodle recognized as distinctly male and distinctly british. “And I started to think that the lights weren’t enough.”

Murdoc looked annoyed. Maybe he was disappointed in how mediocre their guilty ghost was. You could give him fire breathing monsters twice a day and he’d still be disappointed.

The sphere made some more frantic circles around its cage, appearing agitated. “Oh, so some brat can just waltz in, drag _that_ with her, and you expect me to stay quiet about it?”

Noodle looked at 2D, who returned her bewildered stare.

“Oh, don’t play innocent. I know what you did.”

“That is good. Because I do not.” She said, her voice tight. Unless it could somehow pry into her head, the ghost hd no way to blame her for anything. Could it get into her head? No, no, _sono koto wa mō kangaeru na_.

The orb sputtered, which looked a bit strange, as it was just a floating blue light. “You know what? Screw this, I don’t need you do be dragging that shithead around me. I’d like to like a few more centuries.” Suddenly the light warped, sparks coming off the shape as it got bigger and brighter, finally settling in the shape of a man, middle aged, in a blue uniform and cap. On his ghostly, semi-transparent waist was a tool belt, screws and pliers and measuring instruments sticking out of the pockets. One of them, she recognized, was a voltmeter.

“You- you’re an electrician.” She blinked. She did not think that the ghost messing with their power would be so literal.

“And you,” The spirit pointed at her, the curve of his forever uncut nail weathered and chewed. “You really don’t know, do you? I would feel sorry for you, but, well, I’m already dead, ha ha. Seriously, could you do something about your friend over there?” He gestured at the empty air next to her head. Noodle’s arms prickled uncomfortably, this time not because of the cold.

“Right, time’s up! All this chit-chat’s done, ya hear me?” Murdoc stood up, away from the circle on the floor, the runes he just drew glistening in the candlelight. “Hmm, on second thought, that one might’ve been a beta. Ah, fuck it, let’s just get on with it already.”

The spirit flickered. “What are you-”

“Banishing you, idiot. Or exorcising, whichever. Just as long as you fuck off, I’m not picky.”

The dead man locked eyes with Noodle, and the guitarist once again felt that strange, uncomfortable feeling, like there was something over her shoulder she could not see. She checked. Nothing. He gave her a sad smile. “You really don’t know, do you? All this time, trying to just get your attention. But I can see you’re even worse off with him than I am.”

“Hey, Muds, what’s he talking about?” 2D said.

Murdoc paused mid-chant, shrugging. “Beat’s me. The bloke’s been dead for like- decades, maybe. Ya think he’d make any sense?”

“Actually, it was about a month.”

Everyone froze.

“I came to fix your lights. When you called in about it. Never expected there to be zombies, ha ha.” Now the spirit looked downright _sheepish._

“Wait, so are you…? Is your body still-?” 2D looked a bit green.

“Oh yes. Around the back, near the lot entrance. Have fun cleaning that up!”

Murdoc muttered some expletives under his breath. “Great, fantastic. Now fuck off.”

“Okay.”

The bassist finished whatever satanic chant he was performing. The ghost smiled at Noodle one last time, with the pitying, saddened smile that only made her anxious, and vanished in a spark and an audible pop. The candles flickered off.

There was a lot of shuffling and cursing before 2D finally found the switch, flicking it on and bathing the living room warm, artificial lighting. “Well, the lights work again.” he looked at the spot on the floor where the ghost had vanished. “What do you think that was about?”

Noodle felt like she should hide somewhere. She kept looking over her shoulder, finding nothing. For once, she felt as paranoid as Russel.

“Beats me.” Murdoc strode over to the kitchen, and Noodle heard the door to the fridge swing open. “Hey, the fridge works. Fucking hell, so does my nose.”

“Surprising.” She muttered, trying to get rid of that unsettling feeling. It was like watching a horror movie and then expecting the jump-scare to happen in real life. Except it didn’t, and it wouldn’t. She hadn’t expected the dead man’s words to affect her so much.

“Hey guys, the lights just came back and- Hey, what the hell’s going on?” Russel suddenly appeared in the doorway, eyeing the summoning circle on the floor.

…

She had the dream again.

It was different this time. Instead of stark clean concrete walls and a freshly pressed combat uniform she was in the recording studio, in her pajamas, and for a second, just a second, she let herself hope that it was a pleasant dream. But the leering shadows were still there, shadowy figures whose eyes seemed to dig into her very soul. Noodle recoiled from the eyes, frantically searching for the doorway that had suddenly disappeared from view.

She heard the voice then, deep and full, rushing through the speakers. “ _Ichi…ni…san…_ ”

Counting up. Noodle pressed her palms to her ears, trying to block out the sound. Where was Russel? Or Murdoc or 2D? She needed to find them.

“ _…yon…_ ”

The voice still grated on her hearing, louder and shriller than any concert feedback, and the guitarist slowly made her way to the walls, eyes shut, not wanting the words to touch her.

“ _…roku…_ ”

Something thick and cool seeped into her socks, and Noodle looked down.

It was blood.

Of course.

Liters and liters of it, slowly filling the entire studio from the floor up, flowing into every hole in their equipment. The room was bursting with a thick smell of copper. Noodle stumbled backwards, the blood already to her knees. Soon it would rise above her head, drowning her. That was the script. And she did not like the ending. In the back of her panicked mind, Noodle knew this wasn’t real. But awareness wasn’t enough to pull her out of the dream. It just teased her at the edge of her perception, reminding her that she was trapped, mocking her. Where was her band? She needed to find them, before they drowned with her.

The blood was to her waist already, soaking into her clothes. It was the same shirt she’d worn yesterday, a navy blue jumper with a white cat face stitched into it, a gift Russel had given her for Christmas years ago that somehow still fit her. The cat was now a dark shade of pink, soaking up the blood into its stitching. She watched one of the googly eyes disappear under the dark red surface, fending the urge to cry. When she was jolted awake.

Noodle sat up in her bed, her breathing labored and unsteady. Sweat pooled under her collar, making her shiver despite how warm her room was. She blinked away the blood, the voice, blinked it all away until it was buried too deep to bother her.

She heard a sharp knock on her door, and froze. There were a few seconds of silence before she heard 2D’s voice on the other side, soft and strained. “Noods?”

She forced herself to move, untangling her legs from the messed up covers and slowly opening the door. 2D was there, his head jerking up to meet her gaze as she did.

Noodle had not assumed that she’d made any noise, but there was no other reason for the singer to be there unless she had. That fact did not sit well. The guitarist did not know what she should do.

2D spoke up again, and Noodle wondered just how bad she looked, to have that amount of concern show up in his blood-filled eyes. “Are you- are you okay?”

No, obviously she was not.

“Yes! I am fine. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh, okay.” Was what he said, but it was clear that he was in no hurry to leave just yet. “D’ya wanna…talk about it?”

“No.”

“But-”

“Look-” She jerked her head toward him, and 2D backed away a bit at her harsh tone. Noodle forced herself to calm down. It wasn’t fair of her.

Since when did she care what was fair?

Since you were Noodle.

“I…appreciate your concern.” She struggled to find the words, despite being completely fluid in the language. “It is not something so worrisome that I you should lose your sleep over. It is alright.”

She watched as the singer slowly deciphered her wound up speech, before giving her an expression that was somewhere between worry and- annoyance? “Noodle-”

“I am going to bed now. We have an album to record tomorrow.” She made a show of burying herself under the covers. “Please close the door on your way out.”

“Oh. Okay. If you’re sure…” She felt his eyes on the back of her skull, closing the door quietly as he left. Noodle ignored the guilty feeling in her stomach, counting sheep in her head like Russel had taught her when she was little.

_Ichi, ni, san, yon, go…_

…

The next morning 2D made flapjacks.

It was the only food he could make that came out as arguably perfect, and the only food that Noodle really had a passion for. She tried not to think about the why, and proceeded to pour questionable amounts of syrup on her portion.  

She was just in the process of shoving the fifth one into her mouth when Russel walked in, nodding at her in greeting. The drummer hadn’t woken up this early since he came back to Kong, and Noodle smiled back over her mouthful, taking this as a hopeful sign. She gestured at one of the other plates she’d helped prepare.

“Aw man, thanks.” Russel sat down, stabbing one of them with a fork.

“Your welcome!” 2D called back from the kitchen.

The drummer bit into one, and frowned. “Coulda gone a bit less on the baking soda, though.”

2D frowned, staring down into the pan he was holding. “Mum said it makes them fluffier.”

“Your mother is the source of all truth?” Noodle asked over her bite.

“When it comes to pancakes, she is.”

The three of them enjoyed the silence for a while. Sunlight was streaming through the window, bathing the room in a warm, earthy glow. It was not raining, and there were no zombies as far as Noodle could see. Maybe she should take a walk. Go explore, and shoot some undead while at it if they ever came up.

Russel suddenly put down his fork, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. 2D proceeded to flip over a pancake. “Guys, I think…we need to talk.”

“Ohhh no. Not that tone. You sound like you’re about to tell us you’re pregnant.” Murdoc, who still looked like he was half asleep and half-hungover, stroke into the kitchen, draping himself over the remaining chair and eyeing his pre-syruped pancakes with distrust.

In the kitchen, 2D almost dropped his frying pan.

“No. I’m not.” the drummer’s pupil-less eyes were suddenly on her, and the guitarist gulped down her  pancake. “This is about Noodle.”

“What about Noodle?” Murdoc eyed her suspiciously, with an emotion she could not place. In made her want to hide under the table. He took a syrupy bite of his pancakes, before giving an overdramatic grimace. “These are shit, 2D.”

The singer frowned. “You don’t havta eat ‘em if you don’t want to.”

“And let all that food go to waste? Do I look like I’m full of money to you?”

“Full of something else, though-”

“Say that to my face, you little-”

“ _Guys!_ ” Noodle jumped and sat up straight. Russel’s booming voice made her both uneasy and impressed at how well he could call for attention. “Look, we’ve been a band again for what? Two months now? And so far, we haven’t talked at all about what we’re doing.”

“Actually I-”

“Hold up, Noodle-girl. I know you have some big plans, and I’m not trying to deny that, but we’ve all-” He hesitated suddenly, and all three of them tensed at that, not knowing what he meant. “Look.” He finally sank back down, whatever fire that was in him moments before was extinguished, leaving behind someone incredibly tired. “Last time? Ended in a disaster. I’m not even talking about me going nuts or Murdoc in jail. We were a mess. I was never gonna come back until Noodle called and begged me to.” He frowned at her. “The only reason why we’re all here is because of her. This new album we’re making? Because of her. And we’ve got to start recognizing that.” His eyes met hers, unreadable to her, and Noodle was overcome with an emotion she couldn’t place. “And… _I’m_ …sorry if I haven’t been around for you guys like I needed to be.”

“Russ-”

She stood up, the chair scraping noisily on the floor. Her hands were shaking. “I have to go. _Arigato_ …for the meal.”

She did not look any of them in the eye as she left. She did not know why, but she was scared to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2D thinks, Russel worries and Noodle and Murdoc go for a ride.

_ Russel watched as 2D eagerly dug the camera out, already checking for the tape and switching it on. The small red light on the side of the lens blinked to life, but didn’t flash yet, the singer’s thumb pausing on the record button.  _

 

_ “Hey, Murdoc!” he turned the camera toward the older man, who was busy tuning up his guitar. Murdoc scowled when he looked up, the feedback from the speaker her was sitting on reflecting his sentiment, uttering a loud and abrupt screech.  _

 

_ “What the hell’s that thing for? We haven’t even gotten the chorus down yet.”  _

 

_ “Mum asked me to film us to see what the band’s been doing.” 2D replied cheerily, the band leader’s attitude bouncing right off him, “Also, she was curious ‘bout Noodle.”  _

 

_ Russel carefully righted one of the cymbals on his drum set, eyeing the singer. “What exactly did you tell your mom about her?” _

 

_ “That she’s great on guitar and speaks Japanese and really likes my movies.”  _

 

_ “And about, you know, where she came from?” _

 

_ “Oh she didn’t ask.” _

 

_ “Huh.” There would’ve been several problems if she had. Legal ones. First, Noodle was never registered when she arrived at Kong. Even the British didn’t check the passports of FedEx crates. Second, she didn’t know anything of her past. No parents, no family, not even a town or address she could name, be it in Japan or elsewhere. Third, well, was that they had yet to claim her. There were some hiccups when it came to the adoption system, ones that ended with Murdoc attacking one of the social workers with the mic stand. And it was slightly but irredeemably possible that one of the men they were supposed to sign something from was eaten by zombies.  _

 

_ At the direct mention of her name, the girl herself grinned brightly, her fingers running through the chord she was fiddling with. “Me, me! Film me!” despite her thick accent, it was already clear that the kid had not only knew a decent amount of English, but had progressed in it at an absurd rate for someone her age. She posed dramatically with her guitar, and 2D gladly trained his camera on her, shifting the focus with his other hand. “Alright then! Ready?” _

 

_ … _

 

The weather outside was terrible, filled with rain and mud and undead corpses roaming the nearby grounds. Noodle wrapped the blanket around herself tighter, digging though the box she’d extracted from 2D’s closet a while ago. She felt a bit bad for riffling through her bandmates’ stuff, but the thrill of opportunity and her natural curiosity overridden the need to be courteous. 

 

A blast of thunder echoed through the studio, making the girl jump and shiver in the cold. The heater wasn’t working. Again. She buried herself back in the box, digging out CDs and books and crumpled pieces of paper with hastily scrawled lyrics that never made the cut. She’d found a bit of Murdoc’s stuff in there as well. At least she thought it was Murdoc’s. There was no reason for 2D to have that many bags of sulfur or heavy metal CDs. 

 

Noodle pushed them aside, digging in deeper. She wasn’t sure what she’d wanted to find yet, or what she wanted to do if she did. She took time looking over each item, feeling the edges and crevices and reading any little notes that may have been left by one of her bandmates. A lot of them brought back memories, times when she’d been even shorter, even louder, and a whole lot more unaware of things. When life consisted of guitar, music, and an occasional array of bright lights and sounds that thrilled her while they lasted, but made her exhausted by the end of it. Back when disorder and deviance were the average day. She tried to put it next to the world she now knew existed outside of that one, and gave up. They were just too different. 

 

She was different. Her time in Japan had flipped everything she thought she knew about herself, about her band. Her perception was shattered, and what she’d put together so far did not quite fit. Some pieces were more dark, some jagged and rough, while others clean cut and pristine. Some were erratic and spontaneous in shape, colorful and loud and unforgettable. Some disappeared while she’d been busy picking them up. She felt a lot more grown up and a whole lot more lost. 

 

Noddle’s digging had finally uncovered what she didn’t even know she was looking for. A stack of old tapes lay at the bottom of the box, covered partially with a dusty paper sheet, something that she’d claim used to be wrapping paper. The young guitarist grabbed the one at the top, squinting at the chicken scratch of a label. She could only make out the year: 1998. With a quick glance back at the rest of the stack, she realized that all of them were labeled like that, in the ascending order. 

 

Not stopping to think about what she was doing, Noodle stood up, stomping the sleep out of her legs, wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, and, clutching the tape with one hand, marched up toward the gaming room. She quickly got to the TV, moving all the gaming consoles out of the way before finding one of the tape players they still happened to have. The screen kissed with static at first when she inserted the tape, then suddenly she saw herself, the picture crackly and blurry with low quality. She was a lot younger, standing proudly next to a speaker that was nearly as tall as she was. In her hand was her Les Paul, and as the little girl in the video beamed at her, Noodle felt something gather up inside her chest, making her ache. 

 

_ “Alright! Say your name, luv.” _

 

_ “My...n-name isu, ah...Noodaru!” The girl in the TV looked proud of her sentence. “And we are the Gorillaz!” She played a quick riff, her fingers dancing on the stings like she’d played all her life. Which, though the girl in the video was unaware, she had. _

 

_ Then she rattled off in rapid Japanese, about how this was the greatest band in the world and how talented each of the boys were and how much she wanted to kick that club that rejected them for a gig. “And then we will, ah….take the world!” She blasted them with a rapid fire of chords, making the recording crack and pop from the volume. Somewhere in the background, Noodle swore she heard Murdoc chuckle.  _

 

_ “Sure, luv.” Suddenly the camera swerved, and there was Russel, sitting behind one of his drum sets. He looked a bit awkward, suddenly aware that he was on camera. At first glance, Russel seemed the same as the last time she’s seen him, only maybe a lot more relaxed. The carema tiled a bit downward, and there she was again, pointing at their drummer excitedly. “That is Russu! Ru-russeru? He play the drums.” Noodle found herself a bit embarrassed at her horrible grammar, despite how silly that was. There was no one watching this but her, other than maybe a stray ghost. Still, she fidgeted a bit with her blanket, feeling a lot more self-conscious that she should’ve been.  _

 

_ “He - great drums!” _

 

_ “Yeh, like Buddy Rich and Evin Jones or somethin’. But, like, better.” A pause. “You don’t have those blokes in your head, do you?” _

 

_ “Nah.” Russel still looked nervous, but was also blushing like a beetroot. “Thanks, guys.”  _

 

_ “Play!” the guitarist ordered, pointing at him.  _

 

_ “Yeah, play us something, Russ.” The camera zoomed in closer, and Russel gave in, picking up his drumsticks and starting out with a slow, steady rhythm, before seeming to get into it, momentarily forgetting about the camera in order to give a brief, but powerful solo.  _

 

_ Noodle in the video clapped loudly. The camera suddenly shook violently, the picture jumping back and forth, and the sole audience member realized that 2D must have started clapping, too, forgetting that he was the cameraman.  _

 

_ “Uh, nobody’s gonna see that thing other than us, right?” _

 

_ “And my mum.” _

 

_ “And your mum.” _

 

_ Then Murdoc burt into the picture, looking every bit as annoyed as Noodle expected him to be, but beneath that, there was a glint of something like excitement. “Alright, get it over with, we’ve got an album to make.” He got uncomfortably close in front of the camera, whether it was to intimidate 2D or to see his face more closely in the picture, she didn’t know. Both were very Murdoc. _

 

_ “Y’know, I’d thought you’d be more excited about me filmin’. You were all about it back at the gig. ‘Promoting the image and all that’. Dunno what that’s supposed to mean, but we’re doin’ it.” _

 

_ “We showcase the image,” Murdoc kept glancing back down, and this time Noodle was sure he was checking to see that he was centered. “When we have a finished product. Showbiz 101, dullard.” _

 

_ “And you sure know a lot about that.” Russel deadpanned from behind. _

 

_ “He does?” _

 

_ “Of course I-! Oh, just turn off that blasted thing already and get over here! Your turn to do the keyboards.” _

 

_ “NO!” The guitarist’s voice was so loud, it made the sound pop and crackle. “Play!” She pointed at the El Diablo, still securely hanging over Murdoc’s shoulder.  _

 

_ “What? No, I’m not gonna-” _

 

_ “Plaaaay.” The two settled in a contest of wills, Murdoc having to kneel over a bit so he could properly look her in the eye. While the bassist’s glare was dead-set, his mouth seemed to twitch a bit at her pout.  _

 

_ Finally he caved in, hunching back a little. “Fine.” he said, his fingers settling on the strings.  _

 

_ He played a few notes, not in any particular order, so the Noodle on the screen seemed extremely unsatisfied. Nevertheless, she still nodded when he finished, giving Murdoc a polite clap.  _

 

_ “Was that so hard?” 2D asked.  _

 

_ “Yes.” Murdoc sent the man behind the camera a withering look.  _

 

_ “Wait,” Russel turned to Noodle, who was already grabbing her guitar. “Doesn’t 2D havta do something, too?” _

 

_ The girl frowned, then nodded, looking back at the camera. _

 

_ “Oh, okay...What- what should I-” _

 

_ “Oh, come off it. He doesn’t even know half the lyrics, even the ones he wrote.”  _

 

_ “I do! It’s just...hard to remember which is for which sometimes-” Noodle was still looking at the camera expectedly. “Uh, so who wants to hold thi-” _

 

The screen went blank. Maybe it ran out of memory, or maybe 2D had just accidentally pressed the off button. Noodle sat very still, the blanket still around her shoulders. She could feel how cold the floor was against her knees, sense the funky smell the whole place gave out, even years after the band left the premises. After months and months in Japan, dashing to and fro all the colorful signs and grand masses of people, smelling curry and incense and the air that should have been familiar but wasn’t, after days and days of searching and talking and going from hotel pod to hotel pod, coming back here seemed like an exhaustion-induced dream, the walls and rooms and floor new and yet old. She could not feel any connection to her homeland, but Kong only gave her feelings of nostalgia and regret. For what exactly, she wasn’t sure. Maybe what her life could have been if they hadn’t gone to L.A., or if she hadn’t tried to dig up the past that should have stayed so deeply hidden. 

 

Noodle pulled the tape out of the slot, turning it over in her hands. The girl on camera was also a regretful memory. She did not look weighed down, or anxious, or distrusting, or any of those things Noodle felt like she’d always been. The girl on camera looked happy, happy at what she was doing, which at the moment was messing around on instruments with the only people she knew at the time, but who’d taken her in immediately after hearing her skills. 

 

That memory did not have to be regretful. It could be anything she desired. “Your life is what you make of it” and all that. Who’d she hear that from? Sensei? No, it couldn't have been. Russel then. Or maybe 2D, in one of his strangely philosophical, but no less unstructured tangents. Or maybe it was Murdoc, making his band one of the best in the world because he could. Because he’d wanted to. And now, Noodle was here to pick up the pieces, with strange, empty walls and VHS tapes that should have been converted to CDs a long time ago. 

 

So Noodle stood up, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, the one that smelled like cigarettes and butterscotch, and went to look for her guitar. She had work to do.

 

…

 

“Maybe I said something wrong.”

 

“It wasn’t you, Russ.”

 

“Then what happened? What exactly happened here?”

 

He didn’t know. Or he did, but the pieces were too vast and too scattered for Stuart to get them all together like that. So he grew silent, tapping his fingers together in an effort to stay calm. “Maybe- Maybe she’s just not feeling well, you know? It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“I didn’t even know what the hell I was saying!” 

 

“Really? I mean, I thought the speech was good, so-”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Russel ran a hand down his face. “I just feel like we never talk to each other. I know I’m partly to blame for that-”

 

“Are you?”

 

“-but we’ve all been distant, y’know? Ever since we got back. Murdoc’s shut away in his vinnie for God knows how long. No offense, but I don’t know what’s going on in your head half the time-”

 

"Okay, but-”

 

“And I ain’t exactly been the most talkative since Del- you know.” Russel took a steady breath. “But Noodle? She’s been there and she hasn’t. And I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really know what to do here.”

 

Stu stayed silent at that, feeling helplessly guilty. Russel didn’t know, and he was blaming himself for that. It wasn’t fair, but the singer didn’t know what he should do. Telling anything would be breaking a promise, but not telling at all would be leaving the drummer at the mercy of his own thoughts, and he didn’t know which was worse.

 

“I think there’s something she ain’t telling us.” Russel said, leaning back against the wall. “She’s got a right to, but she shouldn’t have to, either. She’s thirteen! We can’t leave her on her own like that. It’s not good for her to be alone.”

 

“You were alone, though, right?”

 

Russel looked at him sharply. Maybe he’d said something wrong. “Yeah, I was.” Suddenly the drummer chuckled, his face in his hands. “And look how great that turned out.” 

 

He left 2D standing in the kitchen, frozen, his insides rebelling inside him. He stood there for a while, trying to piece together what was said and how this morning could have ended this badly. Maybe-

 

His head started to hurt before he could finish that thought, and Stuart went to go look for his pills, some of which he swore he saw underneath the TV a couple of days ago.

Murdoc watched whatever was left of the flapjack catch on fire, the smoke slowly filling up the room. “Hey Faceache! Where the hell- oh look, now the curtains are on fire. Idiot.” And he ran to find the nearest bucket, possibly planning to dose 2D with it later. 

 

…

 

2D walked in the next day to see a calendar hanging on the studio door. It was already filled out, sticky notes and scribbles in permanent marker and hastily drawn Japanese characters covering most of the pages. Honestly he couldn’t understand even the english-looking ones. The singer looked over the current date, a ‘BM’ filling most of the square in bold lettering. All the handwriting was Noodle’s. It was actually legible. 

 

“‘BM’ is ‘Band Meeting’.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Noodle came up beside him, looking proud of the thing. 2D was more impressed on how she could reach that high to hang it. “I have decided to plan ahead a bit,” A bit. “To see what the process will be for having the album finished? I have already arranged our meeting with Danger Mouse. He said he wanted to start as soon as possible.”

 

“Right. Who’s Danger Mouse?”

 

“Our producer? You met him two weeks ago, he drank most of Murdoc’s Cagnac, remember?”

 

“Oh right.” The bloke wasn’t as memorable as 2D thought he would be. He wasn’t a mouse, for one. That had been disappointing. 

 

“And I had looked at my sources for ways of finding possible collaborators. It had been hard making contacts on tour like you guys, since I did not speak English well then, but there are some people who I’ve been wanting to invite. I am sure you and Murdoc and Russel have ideas as well, so I did not want to overlook that.” 

 

“Uh…” Stuart looked over at the guitarist, all four-foot-five of her, and wondered how long exactly it took her to put this all together. “Noods, that’s- that’s great.”

 

Noodle beamed. “I know.” She even stood different, straighter, taller despite not having grown that much over the last year and a half. “I will now try to find the rest of our band. We have work to do.”

 

Three years ago, Noodle would have burst through the studio door and cranked up the amp with some sick chords, at least until someone came and told her to turn it down. She would have insisted someone play with her, which led to the whole band getting an improvised jam session, which led with either a new song or the height of Murdoc’s frustration. Of course, he’d never get mad at Noodle, not really. They all agreed it was impossible, not when the kid spoke half-assed English and looked more happy on a stage than playing with dolls or any sorta crap the thought she was supposed to like. 

 

And now Noodle marched off, head held high, looking like one of those blokes from TV that were supposed to act cool to prevent the world blowing up or to win the election or something. 2D stood in front of the callendar, looking at the increasingly blurry letters before he realized he forgot his pills.

 

...

 

“Where exactly are we going?” Noodle instinctively gripped her seat belt, eyeing Murdoc, who’d been busy navigating out of Kong and avoiding eye contact all at the same time. 

 

“What, can’t I take my guitarist places?” Murdoc kept his eyes on the road, cigarette wedged between his teeth. 

 

“Are we going to rob someone?”

 

“No. What? Got excited for a second?”

 

“Is something going to explode?”

 

“No- Actually kind of depends on how shit you are.”

 

That got her riled up. “Shit at what? Murdoc, what’s going on?”

 

Suddenly Murdoc hit the brakes, throwing them both against their seatbelts. “Right, time to get out.”

 

“W-what-” Noodle looked wildly around, at the wide expanse of wasteland and landfill that made up most of Kong Studios territory. Several scenarios flashed through her head. Did Murdoc want to hunt down more of the undead? If so, why did he just not tell her?

 

Murdoc yanked her passenger door open, waving his head. “C’mon. We’re switching.”

 

Noodle jerked her head toward the driver’s seat. “You- want me to drive.” 

 

“ _ Yes _ . Fucking hell, you’re worse than 2D today.” 

 

Despite the guitarist being slow on the uptake, the two quickly switched positions, and Noodle eyed her makeshift road that peeked over the steering wheel, feeling too small for the seat. As she reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror, Murdoc took a long drag from his cigarette. 

 

She knew how to drive. She knew, because they taught her, among other numerous things she’d remembered over the course of her gap year in Japan, but Murdoc didn’t know any of that. How was she going to explain the knowledge of a skill she’d acquired when she was six? 

 

“You’re teaching me how to drive.”

 

“Yeah.” Suddenly Murdoc looked a lot more awkward and a lot less indifferent. He took another drag, letting the smoke filter though the open slot in the window. “You wanna?”

 

“I-” They never asked her that. They just told her what she had to do, and she did it. Sometimes Dr. Kyuzo stayed with her, jotting down notes and offering quiet encouragement. Sometimes there was a shadowy, broad shouldered man in a milliraty uniform, watching her silently, and Noodle had the anxious impression that if his assessment of her wasn’t perfect, this man was going to deem her useful no more. “Sure.”

 

For the first time, Noodle felt like there was something she was starting to see clearer. Whether it was in 2D excitedly announcing something about NASA or Russel and Murdoc arguing about the true significance WW1 had on postmodernism - no matter in what way or how effective, her bandmates would hold onto every scrap of knowledge as tightly as possible, squeezing meaning out of things that would otherwise be meaningless. Back home, Noodle learned things because she was told to do so, and always according to its usefulness. Even Dr.Kyuzo, whom every child, included herself, referred to as the true source of all knowledge, was reluctant to share anything not in the curriculum. Here, Noodle could ask any question she wanted, and it would prompt an hour-long lecture-turned debate that would end with either she or 2D looking up what Wikipedia had to say on the subject. Her curiosity was as chaotic as her past was methodical, and Noodle hadn’t had the chance of truly experiencing that existential revelation until now. 

 

Hence, the driving. Murdoc seemed the most eager out of the two of them, trying to find the heavy metal station on the radio as he explained what exactly she had to do. “Right, your foot goes- yeah, there, don’t press on it though unless you also wanna end up with a dent in yer head.” She tried out all of the pedals, surprised how easily she could reach that far, the gear shift, the steering, adjusting the mirrors so that she didn’t have to crane her neck upward every time she looked into them. The landscape looked clear, but who knew when the first horde of undead would be drawn to their revving engine. Though she supposed this was a Kong problem, not a problem average British drivers had to deal with. 

 

“Right, now get yerself out of parking.” She did, pulling the gear stick into first speed,

 

“Right, now-” 

 

She hit the gas, her head snapping back at the sudden acceleration. Murdoc’s head hit the back of the shotgun seat as he clutched the cushion for dear life. “Not like that! You’re gonna- agk!”

 

Okay, so maybe she should have listened to him. But as Noodle swung the wheel around and the geep skid over several volleys, she kind of stopped caring, shrieking at the top of her lungs in delight. This was like the 19-2000 video again, only better, with her at the wheel. 

 

Soon enough she was laughing, heading top speed god-knows where in this forsaken landfill, but it was great. Murdoc even looked less like he was gonna throw her out of the window and more like he was enjoying this a bit too much for the serious instructor he’d tried to be for 2 seconds. 

 

There was a humanoid figure on the horizon, and Noodle hit the brakes, the Geep skidding to a stop before she could accidentally run over some poor passerby. Murdoc almost hit the dashboard, and the seatbelt dug painfully into her stomach. Then one of the figure’s arms fell off, and Noodle realized that it, in fact, was not a human being, but a zombie, looking even more lost than they themselves were. Noodle looked at Murdoc. 

 

“Should I?”

 

“Hell yes.”

 

The guitarist hit the pedal again, feeling the g-force pulling against her body as they accelerated towards the monster. The zombie didn’t even have time to gape at them - in a flash it was just a bunch of oozing, rotten guts on their windshield. Noodle clicked the whispers, giggling like crazy. Beside her, Murdoc did the same. 

 

This was nice. The thrill of smashing a bunch of zombies took the edge off anything else, and if Noodle had been a bit less there, should would have even called it therapeutic. In a ridiculous, Gorillaz sort of way. Murdoc looked more sober than he had in weeks, and he was grinning. The bassist hadn’t willingly taken her anywhere since she was little, and now he was giving her (albeit very questionable) driving lessons. 

 

“Yer shit at lying, you know.” 

 

“W-what?”

 

Murdoc waved his hand at her and the seat. “This. You think I don’t know?”

 

There was a tense silence as Noodle’s mind raced for the right alibi. “I-.”

 

“Not judging you for it. Who am I to judge?” The bassist chuckled harshly, leaning back in his seat. “Dunno what you’re trying to get out of this, though. Saying it’s about all the junkie zombies. It’s not, is it?”

 

It was not about her driving. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

 

“Your album.” Murdoc gestured wildly, looking more nervous the longerher pursued this train of thought. “You said you came up with it after figuring out the undead were after our TV. But that’s bollocks.”

 

Noodle gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You did this to talk to me about the album?”

 

“Right.” The man looked hesitant at this next part, folding his arms and looking at the waste-filled horizon in front of them. “There’s another thing.”

 

She waited for him to continue. Suddenly Murdoc was digging through the glove compartment of the Geep, muttering under his breath. “W-What are you doing?”

 

“Shush, kid. Trying ta- There it is.” Murdoc pulled out her old radio helmet. 

 

Noodle’s mouth fell open. “It-it was here the whole time?”

 

“Left it after we moved to L.A. I think.” he passed it over to her, and the girl held it gingerly, like the slightest bit of pressure could break it. She felt something tighten her throat. Noodle didn’t think she’d see it again. Murdoc scowled at her. “Don’t cry over the bloody thing.”

 

“I’m _ not _ ,” She laughed, turning the device over in her hands. “What do you want me to do with it?”

 

“Nothing. Not if you’re gonna sob all over it.” He looked away, folding his arms, and the guitarist knew he wasn’t about to explain anything any more. 

 

“Okay, Murdoc.” She should probably talk to 2D later, but there wasn’t really anything to say. He hadn’t told Murdoc anything, had he? He kept his promise and somehow still managed to get what he wanted. He’d make a terrifying lawyer. “Thank you.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” If her eyes didn’t deceive her, it looked almost like the bassist was blushing. “Hey, what the hell is that?” 

 

He pointed toward the horizon, where Noodle could see a silhouette of a tall, large figure, it’s shape vague against the sunset sky. It turned to them, raising one arm in the air. “A zombie?”

 

“Nah, that thing’s too big.”

 

It could be someone lost, it could be 2D or Russel, though as Noodle stared at it longer, the silhouette didn’t match either of them. “We should help them.” 

 

“And get eaten alive? No thanks.”

 

Before Murdoc could protest she stepped on the pedal, treating them both to a bumpy ride as they slowly approached the figure. “Hello! Are you lost?”

 

The figure turned towards them, and Noodle saw what looked like the hood of a giant cloak barely concealing its face. It waved at her, the folds of its garment twitching softly against the wind. 

 

“Hey, kid? I’m starting to think-” The bassist cut himself off abruptly as the figure suddenly vanished from sight, dissolving in the air right before their eyes. 

 

“We should go.” Noodle strang out.

 

“Good idea.”

 

…

 

Noodle carefully picked her way through the mountains of empty cans, half-finished cigarettes and stacks upon stacks of takeout boxes that made up the aesthetic of Russel’s room. The drummer sat on the half-made mess of a bed and shuffled around a card deck, arranging the colors is a certain pattern. The girl approached him slowly, peeking at the stacks. “You’re playing cards by yourself?”

 

“Solitaire. You’re supposed to.” The drummer’s voice was too gruff for him, but he seemed calm. Maybe Stuart reminded him to take his medication again. “I’ve always played with Del, on who’d do it the fastest. Now, though-” He laughed, and Noodle was taken aback by how bitter he sounded. 

 

“I am sorry.” It was all she could come up with to say.

 

“You’ve got no reason to be.”

 

“I still am, though.”

 

Russel suddenly looked up at her, a sad, fond smile on his face, and ruffled her hair. Nobody’s done that since she was ten. “You’re a good kid.” 

 

Now it was her turn to laugh. “You do not know that.” 

 

“Nah, I do.”

 

She felt her throat close up with a warm but bitter emotion. “Would you- Would you teach me how to play this game?”

 

“Didn’t think there’d be something ya didn’t know.”

 

“There are lots of things I don’t know, Russel.”  _ Ri ni mo ōku no. Too many.  _

 

The drummer scooted over on the bed, letting Noodle climb up and shuffle under the blanket next to him. The guitarist leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling at the familiar hum of her friend’s voice, its richness filling up her head with fond memories, now only glimpses. 

 

...

 

_ “And you have enough for the next of six months, yes?” _

 

“Yeah, mum, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Pills where the one thing he was not running out of.

 

_ “You are all feeding yourselves, correct?” _

 

“Mum…”

 

_ “Alright, alright, I know your Russel has more sense than that.” _

 

Russel was currently in his room recovering from another panic attack, but there were some things even 2D wouldn’t tell his mother. Murdoc started making faces at him from the TV room, so things were normal. Kinda. 

 

_ “Now, I spoke with your dad recently.” _

 

“Y-you did?”

 

_ “He is still mad about you up and leaving, but I think he’s starting to come around.” _

 

“That’s...good.” Stuart hadn’t spoken to his dad since he quit the fairgrounds to come back to Kong, or he’d tried to, but his father wouldn’t, and though Stu knew he didn’t really do anything wrong here (right?) it still kind of hurt. He’s been wanting to tell his dad about the ghost, and how it reminded of him (okay maybe leave that part out). But he couldn’t, and his mum was possibly a literal saint, but she wasn’t the same.  __

 

_ “Don’t be upset, baby. He’s stubborn, you know that,”  _ Stu did. He didn't have to like it though.  _ “But I’m sure everything will come around eventually.”  _ Yeah. It would.

 

“It’s fine, mum, really.”

 

_ “Take care of yourself, Sweetheart.” _

 

“Okay.”

 

_ “Bye now.” _

 

“Bye.” Stu hung up, watching the phone cord bounce a bit in the air. 

 

“Family problems?” Murdoc was swinging back another beer. “Better cut them off early on, if ya ask me. Won’t do anything but drag you down.”

 

“Nobody was asking you.” Noodle came in, jumping down to sit next to Murdoc. The bassist cursed, some of the booze splashing on his shirt. 

 

“Fine, I’ll drink in the vinnie, if yer so adamant about it.” Nobody really said anything. 

 

The two watched in silence as he left. For a second 2D thought of calling him back, but something told him to forget it. Murdoc wasn’t the most pleasant person sober, nevermind drunk, and he started to throw things at some point in his drinking spree, and 2D didn’t know if that point had been crossed yet. Plus, he could use some time without Murdoc. 

 

“So. How is Russel?” Noodle picked at the god-knows-how stained cushions.

 

“He’s okay. Well. He’s not. But, y’know.”

 

“Yeah.” They were both silent for a bit, long enough so that it got awkward. 

 

“Your mother is really nice.” Noodle’s voice had an odd lit to it that 2D barely caught. 

 

“Sure. She can be a bit much sometimes though.”

 

“Really? I would not know anything about that.”

 

Right, Noodle wouldn’t. She didn’t have a mum. Or a dad that got reasonably angry at her life choices. Or anything Stu or Russel or even Murdoc had as kids. All she had was some quack doctor who did experiments on her and then felt bad enough about it to save her life. By shipping her off in a box. Suddenly 2D’s family problems got a lot smaller. He wondered if Noodle was thinking that, too. If she was thinking that, why wouldn’t she say anything? 

 

Every interaction he’d had with little Noodle was filled with her excitement and rapid Japanese and broken English that showed just how much she loved what they were doing, maybe even more than the rest of them combined. Every interaction he’d had now was just a bunch of questions and half-truths and admissions and denial. It was as contradicting as it’d been confusing, and though 2D was the last person to piece it all together so that it at least made some sense, he did it. He did it, because he was the only one she’d talk to (or at least it seemed that way) and if he didn’t know how to help her, no one would. It wasn’t nearly the same help they’d tried to find Russel, but maybe it was just as important. But it was a lot harder for Stu to offer it if Noodle kept telling and not telling at the same time. It was hard to know what he was supposed to say if he didn’t even know what Noodle wanted in the first place. 

 

“We could visit her sometime. I remember you used to love it there. You almost wrecked all of my dad’s equipment, but you looked thrilled doing it.”

 

Noodle smiled, and this time 2D could tell it was genuine. “I would like that.” 

 

…

 

Murdoc lit another cigarette, chucking a used-up filter down into the landfill bellow. 

 

“You talked to her?” 2D scooted a little bit away from the edge, feeling the roof tiles under his palms, taping his fingers against them gently. 

 

“Yeah. Gave her back that helmet of hers.” Murdoc’s gaze fell down onto the ditch bellow, where a fresh hoard of zombies was scraping against the walls. 

 

“That was nice of you.” 

 

“Whatever. That thing took up space, anyway. Could waste the money and throw it away.” The bassist sounded dismissive, not looking at 2D, fiddling with his cigarette. “The kid looked like she needed a break.” He said, this time a bit softer. 

 

“Yeah,” 

 

“Mind telling what exactly happened to her?” It wasn’t the first time Murdoc has asked him, though one of the nicer ones. 2D didn’t understand what made him think this time would be any different.

 

“I can’t. I promised not to.” 

 

“‘Course you did.” Murdoc took a drag of his cigarette, the scowl he was wearing making him look even older than he was. “Not bad, though.”

 

“Is this about the bird?”

 

“No, it’s not about the bloody bird! Noodle.”

 

“Oh.” 2D looked down at the landfill bellow, feeling cold. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2D really loves his mum you guys. 
> 
> I have a firm headcanon that all the Gorillaz members are hopeless nerds. Murdoc most of all.

**Author's Note:**

> sono koto wa mō kangaeru na - roughly translates to "Don't think about it."
> 
> Find be on Tumblr @2dwithaponytail


End file.
